


Let Aziraphale Say Fuck

by Sequesters



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 16:39:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19794829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sequesters/pseuds/Sequesters
Summary: Crowley is extremely offended to find out that Aziraphale said fuck for the first time in six millennia--When he wasn't THERE to hear it!!





	Let Aziraphale Say Fuck

It was one of their post-Apocalyptic trips to Tadfield that started it.

Well, it was their EXIT from Tadfield that really started it, with the boy formerly known as the Antichrist tripping on a rock and falling on his face while waving them off.

“FUCK!” He cried out.

The angel and the demon turned as one to look at the boy, but he was already getting up and running away, presumably to avoid the wrath of that shitty old neighbor watch man.

Crowley thought, well, he must be fine, if he’s running like that, no need for any discreet little miracles, time to go home.

Aziraphale, however, looked positively astonished.

“Did…Did Adam just say-?”

“-Fuck, yes, yes he did,” observed Crowley.

Aziraphale pursed his lips and did one of his…indignant wiggles.

“Did you teach him that?” he accused Crowley. “It positively _smacks_ of your…demonic interference.”

Crowley gaped back with a little indignation of his own. “What? He’s the ANTICHRIST! In terms of demonics, he outRANKS me.”

Crowley was taller than Aziraphale, in this corporeal body anyway, but Aziraphale still found a way to look down on him, a disapproving pout on his lips.

“Oh, come on, Aziraphale,“ Crowley protested, "He’s twelve! Swear words were practically invented for preteens to use. And I should know!”

Aziraphale sighed. “You didn’t _invent_ swear words, Crowley,” he said, his mouth twitching in amusement despite it all.

Crowley deflated. “Fine, you got me there. I do like encouraging folks to use them, though, even if it’s not technically a sin.”

He sighed, and looked over at Aziraphale. “The day I get YOU to drop the f-bomb, now…THAT’LL be the day,” drawled Crowley, lightly punching him in the arm.

Aziraphale stiffened up.

“Ivealreadysaidit,” he mumbled.

Crowley blinked, not daring to believe his ears. “ _What_?”

“I’ve already _said_ it!” Aziraphale burst out, his tone of voice reminding Crowley of a certain missing-sword incident from six millennia ago, “Once.”

Crowley straightened up, mouth agape.

“Are you _kidding_ me, angel?” Crowley said incredulously, “ _You_ said FUCK?!”

Aziraphale nodded miserably.

“Ah-bu-wha-I-“ Crowley sputtered, “When?”

“I was-I was being discorporated! And sent back up to Heaven, where I thought I had lost my one chance to avert the apocalypse! It’s HARDLY an inappropriate thing when it’s said in THAT context,” Aziraphale explained, automatically on the defensive.

“I don’t give a FUCK-” Crowley dragged out the CK sound irreverently, “-about ‘ _proper context_ ’, angel,” Crowley said, complete with air quotes, “I’m just so MAD that I wasn’t around to HEAR it!!”

“Well, sorry to disappoint,” muttered Aziraphale, stiffly walking on.

“Awwwwhhh,” Crowley groaned, long and drawn out, and put a skip in his step to catch up with him.

“Six thousand years,” he lamented, “I have been waiting, no, IMAGINING, that I would get to hear you say my FAAAVORITE naughty word, and _what_ do you do? You just go and say it without me there!”

Aziraphale ignored him and continued to speed-walk to the Bentley.

“You’ve GOTTA do it again,” pleaded Crowley, “PLEASE.”

Aziraphale stopped. “Out of the question,” he said icily, and then continued to walk again, even quicker if that were possible, forcing Crowley to actually put effort into catching up.

“Oh, come on, it’s not like Heaven is watching you right now, it’s the perfect time!” argued Crowley.

“Crowley I can’t just SAY it, even if Heaven isn’t watching! Unlike some present company, I have to have the proper…FEELING behind it, or it holds no weight and I simply can’t do it!”

"Proper feeling, my arse, I’ve just said it four times! Gets more fun every time you do, let me tell you.”

“Maybe so, but you’re a DEMON, Crowley. You’re…accustomed to such things.”

"Aw, angel, please? For me?” whined Crowley.

“No, I won’t do it,” said Aziraphale with a note of finality.

Crowley deflated, and opened the drivers side door. “Fine. But if the ‘ _propah feeling’_ comes over you again, make sure to call me! I dont want to miss the second coming of Aziraphale saying the dreaded _fuck_ word.”

“IF I ever say it again,” Aziraphale mumbled, as he, too, opened the door to the old Bentley and got inside.

-

“Oh, Crowley, I have wanted to take you here for years!“ Aziraphale said as they hurried along the sidewalk, "It’s a LOVELY little place, handed down through the generations in a family ive known since the eighteenth century! Surely you’ve heard me talk about the Baldacci’s?”

“I hear a _lot_ of things from you,” Crowley complained, “You can’t expect me to remember them ALL.”

Aziraphale bristled a little. “Well, you will remember them after THIS,” he said smugly, as he pushed open the door.

-

Twenty four minutes and three seconds later, Aziraphale came bursting back out of the door, simmering with anger, Crowley trailing behind.

"The nerve! The audacity! The unmitigated GALL!” Aziraphale said, as he stomped down the small side street.

“First they serve us awful, absolutely DREADFUL food, and then they kick us out for _daring_ to send it back??” he complained, hands flying everywhere.

Crowley seemed to remember that it was some choice non-compliments to the chef that Aziraphale gave that got them kicked out, but he didn’t bring it up.

"Honestly, uh, angel, w-we could just go to the place next door,” Crowley said instead, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder, “S’ not a big deal, really-”

“Oh, its not about LUNCH, Crowley, I am just so-so betrayed! I taught that-that _ruffian’s_ great-great-grandparents how to MAKE spaghetti when they were just children in Italy! I’ve known their family for _generations_! And they have the NERVE to tell me that the garbage they just served me was the ‘ _old family recipe_ ’??”

He suddenly stopped, and turned around to face at Crowley, arms splayed out toward him as if he simply must MAKE him understand the gravity of the situation.

"Their sauce was made of ketchup, Crowley! KETCHUP! Don’t they have any FUCKING respect?!” Aziraphale’s voice cracked on the pivotal word, and he clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes going wide.

Crowley’s jaw dropped.

"Ohhh,” Aziraphale groaned, closing his eyes and fists in self-exasperation which quickly turned into self-annoyance with gritted teeth. “Oh!! Why did I do that, it wasn’t even WORTH it!”

He looked up at Crowley in guilty silence. Crowley was still very aware that his mouth was still hanging open, and was working on turning it into a goofy grin. Hearing Aziraphale swear, properly SWEAR, was so much better than he had ever imagined.

If Crowley had ever celebrated Christmas, he would think that this was Christmas come early.

“Ohhh, it was worth it to ME,” he drawled, unable to get rid of the wide smile on his face. “I’m so, so happy I got to witness that.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Oh, STOP it, _please_.”

“I’m serious, angel! That just made my whole fucking day,” he said, his grin turning to a contented one, “I dont even care what happens next.”

“Oh, that’s easy for YOU to say,” Aziraphale grumbled, sitting down hard on a bus station bench, “It just RUINED mine.”

Crowley sat down beside him, his euphoria simmering down a little as he finally got a good look at Aziraphale’s face.

The angel’s face was creased with shame and self-hatred, his hands folded in his lap just as rigidly as his whole body was sat on the bench. Crowley hadn’t seen him this uptight since before the Apocalypse–he was actually, unironically, extremely upset about this.

But, after about two seconds of thinking about it–Crowley realized that it made perfect sense. It had taken six thousand years and an averted apocalypse to get Aziraphale to admit that there mayyybe was a problem with how Heaven handled things. The conditioning of Heaven’s fucked up moral values was still buried deep inside Aziraphale’s immortal soul, and that was the kind of thing that couldn’t be undone in a matter of a few months. Crowley could say fuck however much he wanted(in solidarity of course), but there was still that voice of Heaven inside of Aziraphale that told him that if he deviated in any way from what they thought an angel should be, he was worthless as a being–even if that deviation was simple as saying a swear word.

 _Probably sounds like Gabriel in there,_ thought Crowley _, The wanker._

Suddenly, Crowley had an idea.

“You know, angel,” Crowley said, throwing an arm around Aziraphale’s mortified shoulders, “In Heaven, on my most recent visit…i heard _Gabriel_ say fuck.”

Aziraphale gasped. “He did WHAT?!” he said, begging Crowley with his eyes to tell him more.

“Oh, yeah,” said Crowley, sadistic glee growing on his face as he delivered this piece of schadenfreude to Aziraphale’s eager ears, “Called himself the ‘Archangel Fuck-ing Gabriel’, right to my face. Well, right to YOUR face, I should say.”

As he spoke, the corners of Aziraphale’s mouth turned up. “I suppose…that _does_ make me feel a bit better about it.”

Aziraphale turned and rested his head on Crowleys outstretched arm, giving him a smile.

A real, wide, grateful smile, that shone with heavenly love that the real heaven could never measure up to.

“Thank you,“ said Aziraphale warmly.

Crowley seized up. Six thousand years of _demonic_ conditioning could make a person react strangely to certain things as well.

"R-right, now come on,” said Crowley, standing up and holding out his hand, “I’m sure there is SOMEWHERE in this city where you can get Italian food that isn’t made of ketchup.”

“Oh ho ho,” said Aziraphale, grabbing Crowley’s hand and allowing himself to be pulled up, “My dear boy, there _is_! And, as it happens, it’s just up the street from here!”

With a renewed spring in his step, Aziraphale strolled down the street, pulling Crowley by the hand.

**Author's Note:**

> God i had fun writing this one. I posted this one on Tumblr a while back but I want to keep all my writing here as well.


End file.
